


The Bounds of Love

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, Drugged Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, nobody consents, reprogramming trough rape, sex-pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight on the bridge, Steve gets separated from his friends, drugged and restrained. He can hardly bring himself to care, still in shock over seeing Bucky again. </p><p>When it turns out the Hydra agents were taking him to Bucky all along, though, theirs is not quite what one might call a happy reunion.</p><p>Trash meme prompt: HYDRA doses Captain America on super-soldier strength sex pollen and locks him in a cell with the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bounds of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit rape from the POW of the rapist, who is drugged and not consenting himself. No happy ending. Use caution.

Steve had expected a quiet execution on some side-street, their bodies disposed of in myriad untraceable ways. Ok no, he’d expected they keep his corpse to try and synthesize the serum out of it, but the death of Black Widow and Captain America had to be kept well under wraps until Insight had managed to make sure there’d be no one left to try and avenge them.

Which is why he was surprised to see the Strike team loading Sam and Natasha into a different van than the one they’d chained him up in. What was the point of separating them, after all, if they were all meant to end up kneeling in some ditch with a gun to their heads?

Medical procedures, apparently. One of the fully armored soldiers in the van with him took out some sort of kit and extracted another thin cuff, much like the magnetic ones in the elevator. At first he thought it an extra security measure, but once wrapped around his biceps it sank needles into his flesh with just a blink of blue lights on its side. He stared at his captors but couldn’t even work up the energy to ask them what it was. 

Whatever the fuck they were pumping him full off, maybe some new-fangled sedative meant to keep him docile enough for imprisonment, was no match for the churning sickness of shock and horror swirling in his chest. They could have started straight in on torture and interrogation and it wouldn’t have wrought him down any more than the constant flashes of Bucky’s face before his eyes. The sound of that much-loved voice after all those years.

Steve jerks in his cuffs and realizes he’s drenched in sweat, dripping down his temples and making his t-shirt stick to his torso front and back. He’s gasping for breath in the silent van, blank walls and blank face-masks witnessing his growing panic. BuckyBuckyBucky. 

He’d be asking himself if it was even possible, if this was some sort of copy or, or clone of Bucky. He might even have questioned his eyes, though there was no way he’d ever mistake that face, but. But. That one sweet moment of hesitation on Bucky’s face, gun wavering and eyes wild, right before Natasha had fired his own grenade launcher at him. That one look told Steve that, without even recognizing his own name, Bucky had still managed to recognize Steve. That was all the confirmation he needed.

There was no way to clear the buzzing from his head, the turmoil from his guts at seeing that familiar face, knowing he’s there, alive. Not while held prisoner and knowing right now his friends were heading for certain death. He doesn’t get the chance to try, anyways, because the van jerks to a stop and the doors slam open. At least two dozen more armed guards surround the back of the vehicle, looking like blank, unforgiving ghosts with their face masks. Steve tries not to think about masks, about ghosts.

The two guards in the van push him out, where he gets surrounded by the others and immediately has shock batons pressed to his sides, guns aimed at him. The world lurches. He can’t count the nozzles pressing into his exposed sides and back. He can’t tell where they are, just that the artificial light is jarring. He moves where he’s being pushed, clumsy from the ankle cuffs, thinking this must be the anesthetic at work and unable to make himself care.

Sweat runs into his eyes. He keeps walking, pushed and pulled between weapons and rough hands in a way that reminds him of getting pushed around by gangs as a kid. Except that there’s no one to save him now. The thought makes a wave of nausea run trough him, and he gags, then struggles for breath. Heat waves crash over his strung-out nerves, centering into his gut with each step they force out of him. It burns. He wishes he’d pass out already, but the mercy doesn’t come. 

It feels like they’ve been marching him for hours, he’s breathless in a way he hasn’t been since before Erskine, when Steve realizes that he has an erection. It’s absurd and it shakes him up enough that he lifts his head and looks around. They’re in some underground corridor, marching past reinforced steel doors. Harsh neon lights on cement walls give the impression of some kind of bunker. The guards surrounding him move as one, without speaking. His dick strains and burns between his legs. Another wave of heat slams trough him just as they jerk to a halt and, opening one of those windowless doors, toss him to the floor of a cell. He doesn’t pick himself up in time to see them slam the door behind him, and the sound is painful yet far-off.

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, sprawled face-down on the floor, until the cold seeps deep enough into his muscles that it starts to counteract the heat. Feels like breaking a fever used to. Except that, though he’s getting his strength and coordination back, it still feels odd inside his own head. And his arousal is becoming more and more of a distraction. It’s ridiculous, frankly too weird to even be ashamed of. He pushes his hips into the floor on automatic, the pressure at his groin making it difficult to remember just where he is. Of course, that’s when the door opens.

Steve freezes, still enough of him there to be embarrassed and afraid. He struggles and twists himself into a curl, face towards the door, and freezes again. Brock Rumlow stands there, gun pointed at him but looking behind him into the room. “Knew him, you say”, he speaks as though addressing someone casually, and it takes Steve the longest of times to put two and two together.

“Well, now you’re gonna know him for real. Up close and personal. Much better than wipes, if you ask me, since this is the kinda lesson you’ll be taking with you”. And he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small device and points it at Steve. The cuffs fall off. The door slams shut and locks.  
He’s uncuffed and strong enough now to get up, but all he wants is to keep rutting into the floor. Maybe this is some sort of hallucination, a fever dream. Nothing else makes sense. Steve forces himself to get up, pushes against the damnably strong impulse to just shove a hand down his pants, and slowly turns to look around his cell.

This time, shock hits him like Thor’s fist in the stomach and he stops breathing. Stops feeling, because there’s too much and no way to handle it all. Tears fill his eyes, and part of it must be relief, because he’s not dead yet and he gets to see that face again. But most of it is horror at the sight of Bucky, half-naked, pressed into a corner of the cell, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrenched to the side where a pair of cuffs just like Steve’s hold his mismatched hands to a metal link placed at floor level in the wall. 

Steve can’t move for a few long seconds, and they stare into each other’s eyes without moving before he stumbles a step forward. Bucky makes a high strangled noise and pushes himself into the wall at his back, trying to press further away. His eyes are wild with fear, jerking to Steve and away like a wounded animal in a trap. Steve stops moving, numb with it all, hands still reaching forward because it’s Bucky, right there in front of him, alive and real.

He looks rough, but then again Steve must, too, after their fight on the bridge. Rumlow’s words flash trough his mind. Knew him? “Bucky?”, he manages to whisper past the block in his throat. No response but for a flash of panicked eyes, and he wants so much to step closer, to touch and stroke him out of that tight huddle… and fuck, what’s wrong with him? His cock throbs, heat and buzzing filling up his senses. 

But Bucky’s right there, so Steve goes on his knees and reaches out towards him with an upturned hand. “Hey Buck, it’s me. It’s Steve” and he crawls closer, but Bucky makes another little noise, a pitched whimper, and pulls at his cuffs. “No, no it’s ok. I won’t hurt you, Bucky, I’d never hurt you”, he promises and crawls a little closer, both hands now held out in an appeasing gesture. Or maybe just to get his tingling palms closer to Bucky’s knees.

Now Bucky’s scrambling backwards desperately, panting for breath and making these high little noises of fear and Steve wants to touch him, to pull him close. His foot slips on the floor and Steve looks down, only now realizing Bucky’s curled up at the top of a thin cot laid out on the cement floor. His gaze runs over his own arms and he takes in the blue light on the cuff, and suddenly thinks something’s wrong with him. Drugs? There’s something… but the thought escapes him completely when his fingertips finally brush Bucky’s shin.

But Bucky’s making a soft whining noise, and has stopped scrambling into his corner to push his head into his knees and shake. Steve is wrecked with pity for this man he loves more than anything in the word, can’t think past the need to comfort. “Shhh, Bucky, it’s alright, I’m here now. It’s all gon’ be fine now, you’ll see. I got ya.” 

Steve slowly runs his broad palm up and down Bucky’s shin, but there’s no response. He belatedly realizes he’s crowding him and looming , so he moves to the side of the cot, leaving Bucky a small way out. But he can’t take that, Bucky’s chained to the wall. He’s scared and Steve should really… a throb from his cock distracts him, and he barely resists the urge to press into Bucky’s side. Instead, he raises his other hand to Bucky’s lowered head, and gently, gently pets his hair, murmuring soothing promises all the while.

The tight bundle of fear next to him doesn’t uncurl, but there’s some shifting and grey-blue eyes meet his trough messy strands of hair. Steve is very careful when pulling those aside, makes sure to rub at Bucky’s scalp gently and pet in soothing circles. “Hey there, sweetheart”, he whispers now and leans in to Bucky’s knees. There’s a flinch but no hurt little noise this time, and Bucky’s eyes find his again fast. “You can trust me, you know that, right?” he reminds Bucky gently, trying to coax him out of his huddle. 

“The man on the bridge”, he hears, in the roughest voice, and then, “I know you”.

“Of course you know me”, and Steve smiles with relief, moves his stroking hand to the back of Bucky’s throat, happy to feel skin. Bucky whimpers again though, and doesn’t move, still shaking all over. Steve gentles his touch even more. “I’m your best friend, and I would never hurt you, Buck. I’ll look after you now.” He promises, and wants to kiss that pale temple right next to nervous blue eyes, but he stops himself from leaning in. Gives Bucky time.

Both hands are busy petting at his scared friend, but Steve can’t help but want more. Closer. The heat in his belly has solidified into a pressing need. The hand on Bucky’s shin circles around to cup his calf, feeling the tense muscle. “Shhh, let me look after you Buck, ok?” he whispers while shifting his weight and pulling Bucky’s leg out. He resists, but Steve keeps petting head and neck and soothing him until they have a leg stretched most of the way out, though not at all relaxed. Steve places his palm on the warm muscle above the knee, making sure to hold it there and prevent a return to the defensive curl. Bucky’s watching him most of the time now, breathing hard and wet as if this small show of trust wore him out completely.

It feels like his whole body’s on fire, and like it should hurt but it doesn’t. It’s driving him mad with distraction, with desire. His hand fits so good on Bucky’s thigh, he wants to cup more, higher, where the flesh is hot and the skin gets thinner along his inner thigh. He wants to touch skin, so badly. There’s an insistent tingling in his balls, and he’s panting, too. They sit there and breathe together for a bit.

When he can’t take it anymore, Steve leans down and pushes his face into Bucky’s hair, shushing him all the while. There’s no response this time, so he runs his palm up that warm leg, curls his fingers towards the inside and feels muscles twitch and flex while Bucky stares fixatedly at this little exploration. It’s good, so good but not enough, and when his fingers go to Bucky’s fly there’s wild tugging on the cuffs again, and that long, whimpering noise that makes him want to hold Bucky close and make him sigh in pleasure.

“It’s ok, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you, remember?” he assures while opening the cargo pants and immediately cupping his hand around a hip. The skin is pale under there, nothing like the dark tan Buck would get from working at the docks without a shirt in summer. His smiling eyes from back then are also nothing like the blank terror he shows now. Steve matches the rhythm of his hands to his murmured assurances as he rubs small circles into Bucky’s quivering side. 

The pull in his belly is relentless. He pushes his face close to Bucky’s, noses at his jaw, brushes slack lips to his stubbly cheek. Bucky seems to have frozen, eyes shut, arms tense and whole body taut. Steve murmurs at him and calls him sweet and rubs his back in circles as if to keep him warm. It takes endless determination not to try and push him down to the cot, rub against him for some relief. But Bucky’s worth it, always was, and when he finally looks at Steve again the fear’s still there, but so is something that looks a little bit like hope.

“That’s right, Buck, it’s me, it’s Steve,” he reassures again, raising his hand from Bucky’s side to cup his face. Makes sure to let him see it coming, and there’s barely any flinch at all. He splays his fingers and carefully runs a thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone, then angles his face for a kiss. There’s the softest noise, more like a vibration against his lips, but Bucky doesn’t try to fight him off, so it’s ok.

It’s not fine, though, he needs more and Bucky’s so damn beautiful, and Steve kisses him for a long time before he feels Bucky start kissing back, just a little, like he doesn’t know how or if he should do it at all. Steve moans in encouragement, pets him more, keeps it slow even while the burn in his dick demands pressure.  
Finally, when some more tension seems to have drained out of Bucky, Steve pulls back and tries to coax him into laying down. It’s no easy job, but a constant stream of reassurances and some careful use of force do the trick. When Bucky balks at being pushed backwards, Steve picks him up under his back and knees, thinking to lay him on the cot, arms above his head. Bucky makes such a pitiful sound then that Steve immediately changes his course of action and lets him lay on his side, face towards the wall, curled up around his cuffs. 

He’s shaking again, unable now to slip Steve quick, assessing, frightened looks, and obviously nervous about having his back to someone. So Steve curls around him, ignoring the harsh breathing to wrap one arm around Bucky and press his face to brown hair, going “shhhhh, shhhh” all the while. His hand finds Bucky’s trembling belly and he strokes. “It’s ok, just getting us comfortable, sweetheart, nothing to be afraid of” he assures, kissing all over Buck’s shoulders, neck and hair. 

He can’t wait for too long anymore, needs to be closer now, and reaching down with both hands he keeps talking. “Lift your hip up a little, there you go, it’s all good here darling, I’ll take care of you. I’m here now, Bucky, it’s all gonna be fine now, just you see.” And he manages to wriggle the reinforced pants down past Bucky’s hips, barely pausing to take in the sight of his pale ass before finally, finally pulling out his dick.

Bucky whimpers again when Steve presses them together once more, back to front and ass to dick this time. He strokes Bucky’s belly while shushing him, then moves upwards to find and tug his nipples carefully. The agitated little noises don’t stop, but Bucky stops trying to curl in further towards the wall. Steve takes that as a good sign, and reaches down between them to take his own dick in hand. It’s purple and really slick from going ignored for so long, so it’s easy and good to guide it down between Bucky’s tense cheeks, and lower to push between his things. The hard muscles grip him, dark hair provides an odd, delightful friction, and slipping in there feels like coming home.

Bucky freezes for a moment before giving off this whining moan and tugging, once, at his cuffs. “There, Buck, we’re good, I ain’t hurting ya, see? We’re just fine, sugar” he promises gently, starting in on a slow pace to fully enjoy the sensation and to keep from startling Bucky anymore. The whining peters off and he keeps rubbing circles into Buck’s front, wherever he can reach. 

After just a few minutes he can’t resist reaching down to pet Bucky’s dick. It’s not quite fully soft, which is great, Bucky’s so tense and scared and he should get to feel good, too! He wraps his hand around it carefully, anticipating the whimper. “Hey Buck, it’s ok, I’m just taking care of ya” he assures and gives it a light squeeze, which gets him a chocked noise and he pushes in between Buck’s things a little harder. “I’ll make you feel real nice, sweetheart. Just you breathe and let me look out for you.”

They fall into a rhythm, pushing and stroking and Bucky’s quiet now except for his breathing. He’s still pulling at the cuffs nervously now and then, but the panic’s gone so that’s good. His legs twitch sometimes and it feels amazing on Steve’s dick, and he comes but it’s hazy, and he keeps going like that. Soon his lover’s fully hard, panting and letting him take care of everything.

He can’t rub Buck’s dick and his nipples at the same time, which is a shame, and he thinks about sucking them but getting Bucky on his back, as good as it sounds, would take too much coaxing and fighting and Steve can’t make himself still his hips. Can barely form coherent thoughts.  
Time passes, who knows how long, and he comes until the hot space where Bucky’s things hold his dick is wet and slick with come. Bucky comes, too, at one point, and his moan is shaky like he’s crying. Steve kisses his ear and behind it, lets him know how good he did trusting Steve, how brave he was. Lets go of his dick and pulls his now-oversensitized balls out of the way. They keep going a while.

When his head starts to clear his dick is chafed raw and burning in a distinctly unpleasant way, even with his accelerated healing. Bucky is still and silent in his arms, and Steve falls asleep like that, just curled up around his beloved.

 

Later, probably hours later given how well he’s recovered, he wakes up to what sounds like a battle outside. And it must be, he realizes, remembering he’s a Hydra prisoner. With a cuff on his arm. And, in his arms, a man who’s barely shifted position since Steve forced him there to… to…

The nausea from before was nothing. He can’t breathe for the longest time, and then he flies backwards and off Bucky’s prone body. Oh god, oh god what had he…  
“Steve?” he hears, in the soft gravelly voice he used to know better than his own thoughts. I’m so sorry, he wants to say, to beg and cry. But he only makes a chokes up noise, and then all he hears are all Bucky’s wordless pleas, and all he can see are those terror filled eyes. He bends over and retches.

“…Steve”, Bucky says, soft this time, and resigned. Whatever he was asking for, he believed he’d been denied, if he’d ever even expected to get it. That makes Steve finally snap out of his selfish freakout, just enough to pull in a breath. “Yeah, Bucky?” he answers, steady as he can, unable to look at the pale back riddled with scars, the metal arm, bunched up pants, wet thighs.

“Please”, is the answer he gets, and then Bucky moves his arms a little and his cuffs fall off. Steve just stares at him, watching as Bucky slowly pushes himself up, leans against the wall, all with drawn-out movements like he’s unsure. Or hurt. Or both? Steve chokes back another wave of panic, he can’t afford to freak out here. He can’t be both the monster and the victim.

Bucky raises his eyes very slowly, gives a few false starts and looks down again before finally meeting Steve’s gaze. He doesn’t keep it long, but when he reflexively starts drawing his knees up, he stops and straightens them again, shooting Steve a wary look. Keeping to previous instructions. Steve swallows his nausea down and presses a knee into the ground hard, as subtly as possible, grounding himself without giving Bucky reason to worry. He needs to be the monster till the end, here.

“You did so good, Buck. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. And you’re not hurt, are you? Can you get up and walk, you think?” At Bucky’s unhesitating nod, he continues: “Ok then, let’s put our things back on before the mess out there gets to us”. He gets up and tucks his dick back in, watches and does not choke, does not gag with horror at himself when Bucky tugs his pants up over a mess of sweat and come covering his groin. 

 

When Tony cuts the mechanical door down, boasting of EMP uses on special anti-Cap cuffs (of all types, apparently, and what would have happened if nothing had deactivated the injection mechanism on his? When would the drug have run out?), Steve asks for space and the look on his face must tell a whole tale, since Tony gives it immediately. 

Or maybe Nat and Sam have told him about the Winter Soldier already. Whatever those tales had been, Steve doubts they match the man who follows him around silently now, staring at his face, then at his hand until Steve touches his hair gently, rubs circles into his shoulder blade. Bucky submits quietly, follows each instruction Steve gave while strung out on drugs and raping him. Looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye with recognition, with the wary trust of a dog put in a kennel with a blanket instead of with a shock collar.


End file.
